Javert

"Avistra must submit to the will of the Emperor. I pray the Valmonters and Huntwells will listen too." Spoke Ser Niklaus the Hummingbird of Avistra as he waited within Avistra's newly-built city. "I am glad the violence will, hopefully, end."

"Woah. My uncle must be a very powerful man to be capable of murdering a war veteran at the age of seven..." remarked Ser Niklaus the Hummingbird "...should I be worried?"

Ser Meili Altwegg hauls himself out of retirement. One more war, one more invader, hundreds more lives to take.

"Woe, for we are so utterly FUCKED" lamented Ser Niklaus the Hummingbird

Writ of Abdication Issued from the Seat of House Altwegg, Under GOD and Empire Anno Domini 2082, 655.A.A. Deo Volente, I have governed Avistra alongside my beloved wife, Margrave Arya Altwegg, for 72 years of my 101 year-long life. In truth, I had never expected to live to such an age, for my life has been little other than wars stretching from the Robertine Crusade to the most recent Lone Star Rebellion. Yet, I like to take comfort in the fact that the people of Avistra have persisted despite consistent threats. In light of my elder years, I, Ser Meili Altwegg, do hereby announce my formal abdication from the Throne of Avistra and my position as Co-Margrave. Henceforth, all my authority shall be vested solely in my beloved wife who shall now rule as the sole Margrave of our people until such time where she is ready to join me in retirement. I shall relegate myself to a mere Consort. Though I will serve my people until my death per my duties as a Knight, I intend to spend whatever peaceful years may remain among my family as often as possible. A new era is upon us within Avistra. Forward Avistra! The Most Honorable, Ser Meili Altwegg, Margrave-Consort of Avistra, Baron-Emeritus of Hummingbirds Rest & Wing’s Crest, Knight of Avistra

Eddard had the soldiers that the Salvians had murdered while he was away buried, his teeth gritting as each grave was dug. The death of any Sedanian brought a great pain to his mind, for it was his mission to see their people restored. He vowed vengeance and quickly set his Exchequer, Karol Jazlowiecki, to the task of replenishing their mild logistical losses. "Next time, I'll have this Salvian's head."

THANK F UCK

Writ of Ennoblement of House Wingriff Issued from the Seat of House Altwegg, Under GOD and Empire Anno Domini 2076, 649.A.A. Deo Volente, As our joined wills, as Lord and Lady-Margrave of Avistra, we have determined the future of Avistra’s direction. Through careful deliberation, we have decided to elevate one deserving of recognition to a place of high honor. Ser Merle Altwegg (@grave), youngest son of Lord Meili and Lady Arya Altwegg, henceforth, shall bear the dignity of Baron of Gryphon’s Roost and the surname of Wingriff, thus as our power as rightful rulers of Avistra, to be held and inherited by his trueborn heirs. With Godan as our witness, we ensure the security of Avistra’s borders and bear great hope of our kin to take heed of the duties and dignities followed as a Baron. Not just the expectations as a peer, but as whole to his people and to faith. The Most Honorable, Arya Elizabeth Altwegg, Co-Margrave of Avistra, Baroness of Hummingbirds Rest and Wing’s Crest The Most Honorable, Sir Meili Altwegg, Co-Margrave of Avistra, Baron of Hummingbirds Rest and Wing’s Crest, Knight of Avistra

"Well done Junco," said the Girl's grandfather, Lord Meili of Avistra. "Teach them to hone their skills."

SONS OF THE REPUBLIC; SEABOUND A Salvian ship nested along the coastline of the Badlands, 279 S.A. Sweat. Percy wiped his brow with his sleeve to remove the sweat from his skin. He took a second to catch his breath atop a cliffside overlooking the sea. As he did, those he had gathered in the city approached him from hiding places among the rocks - It was a motley crew of just about two-dozen people, most without their armor, but still able-bodied men and women of fighting age. ‘I can work with this,’ he thought to himself. But what would he be working on? It seemed those he had gathered bore the same question. One among them, an Elf, stepped forward. “What are we to do now? Roam the desert until an Imperial patrol finds us?” Mutters emerged among the group. Some curious about what to do, some optimistic, some less so. Percy thought quickly before speaking directly to the Elf, yet loud enough that those nearby could hear. “What’s your name?” The Elf hesitated for only a moment to answer. “Tachelyth.” “Are you Salvian?” The second question drew a longer hesitation before Tachelyth answered. “Sort of. I joined up to see what your culture was like, and I fought in the Siege.” The answer satisfied Percy enough. Straightening his back, he looked to the sea below them before returning his gaze to Tachelyth. “I’m Percy Calhoun, son of Attorney General Mark Calhoun, a man who the Imperials butchered in the same battle you and some others here just fought in.” Tachelyth and the others remained silent before Percy turned and pointed down the coast towards the east. “The Federal Armada’s along the coast, not far from here. Nine ships, most battle-ready.” Percy turned to look back at the motley gang assembled with him. Their attention was his, now he needed to convince them. “The Empire’s not going to just let us go and live our lives because they drove us out of our city. They’ll hunt us down and kill us until the word ‘Salvo’ is burnt out of living memory.” Percy could see it on their faces; Fear, anger, hatred, anxiety, all things he had felt and was feeling as well. He pressed on with his speech. “With our numbers we can crew one ship. If we can gather survivors or volunteers along the way, we can even get a second. I’m not content to go die in a ditch just because the lands of Salvo have fallen. If any of you want a chance to give yourselves and your families a future where the Imperial Dragon doesn’t fly over our lands, come with me and we’ll give ‘em a war of our own.” Percy didn’t wait for them to voice their approval or disapproval. He simply turned and began to walk east. After a moment, Tachelyth caught up to him and walked by his side. “I’ll go with you,” the Elf said. Percy gave a nod of affirmation before continuing his walk. Gradually did the rest of the present group begin to walk with them as well. Percy, Tachelyth, and the rest followed the shore east until eventually they saw the sails in the distance just barely peeking over the cliffs. Getting a hold of a ship was, surprisingly, easy enough. Most of the sailors meant to guard the ships had fled by land in the aftermath of the Fall, leaving only a handful per ship too stubborn to leave their precious vessels behind. All Percy had to do to convince the remaining sailors of the ship he coveted was to remind them of their mutual bonds - a love for the fallen Republic, a hatred for the arisen Empire, and the reminder that the Empire would likely seize the ship and hang the sailors if caught. The ship that Percy and his now-crew had taken up for their ends was a thing of beauty; Sails which had been dyed a rose red took the place of the traditional white. Eighteen cannons total, with additional space for fourteen more to be added. It was a ship which Percy could undoubtedly use as a flagship should he eventually get his hands on more vessels. For now, he and his motley band could only command the one. Percy wasn’t one to complain. One ship was better than none, and although no army was his crew, it was enough to lay the foundations of his end-goals. As the crew began to adapt to their new positions with some of the proper sailors beginning to show the newcomers the ropes, Percy moved up to the captain’s wheel. Before them laid the open ocean, as well as the coast of Azuras. All that remained was deciding which way to set sail; East or West? At Percy’s request, Tachelyth brought him a detailed map of Azuras. East laid opportunity - The Pebbles, a name the Salvians had given to the Kurai-Kuni controlled Archipelago, and the Caurosi coast lied to the East. The opportunity to hit the Empire’s Elven allies crossed Percy’s mind, though the threat of the formidable navy of the Shugonate gave him pause. Percy held command of one ship, not the whole of the Salvian fleet. Even if he did, he wasn’t certain of the Shugonate’s maritime prowess, and he preferred not to gamble on an engagement with even one of their dromonds. To the West was a vast unclaimed shoreline. Only Idunia had a small presence there, but no formidable naval assets laid in the coast that he knew of. Even if Idunia made plans to garrison their portion of the coast, Percy and his crew could slip past before ship construction even began, and they could doubtless outrun any Idunian fleet that first had to sail through the Kurai-Kuni controlled Pebbles. The only true concern that Percy could account for was Norland, whose fleet numbers and strength he did not know. Yet with how sparsely populated the Western coast was, he was willing to take the gamble on there being enough places where he and his crew could hide out. Besides, perhaps the proximity to Norland may pay off if they could gather enough men for hit-and-run raids… After a moment of contemplation, Percy straightened up and moved to stand before the lively crew. After calling them to his attention, they gathered and looked up to hear him speak. “Though to the East we may find opportunity, but greater danger. To the West, we will find open waters with little in the way of a challenge save for the Norlanders further up the coast. For the sake of rebuilding our numbers, strength, and biding our time, I have made my decision; Set a course for the Western waters!” Noises of affirmation sounded out from the crew. The anchor was raised and the ship set off - but one final question remained. One that was posed to him by another member of his crew. “Sir, what’re we to call this ship of ours?” The Half-Elf thought for a moment. He looked to the sails, then to the open ocean ahead of them. Finally, he made his response; “The Red Dawn.”

SONS OF THE REPUBLIC; CATACLYSM A Salvian Ranger attempts to escape in the aftermath of the Fall of Salvo, 279 S.A. Blood. The blood of the Salvian martyrs had run through the streets of the former Orc city of Ghorazad for hours now. Even now, Imperial and Idunian soldiers roamed the streets, looting what they could and dragging whosoever they could find from their homes to kill them on the spot. Quarter was not offered for the Salvians, but such was the price they knew they would pay for resistance. Fighting had died down roughly an hour after the Imperials had secured Fort Liberty and those who could not hide had begun attempting to flee with their lives and whatever they could smuggle. Percy Calhoun, son of the fallen Mark Calhoun, was one such Salvian. He hadn’t participated in the battle that destroyed his beloved Republic, but he had arrived in its aftermath in the hopes of retrieving his Father’s body as well as whatever arms he could grab from the fallen. Yet the presence of the Imperial and Idunian armies proved a great challenge - although Percy was able to locate his Father’s broken body on the bridge beneath Fort Liberty, he found that moving it without drawing attention was too difficult. A certain pain and guilt swelled in Percy’s chest. His Father was there, he could see him, but he could not retrieve him. All he could do was watch from a distance as groups of Imperials crossed the bridge from time to time, with some going as far to poke the bodies of the fallen to ensure they had expired. He cursed his apparent weakness in his head before disappearing into the alleys of Ghorazad to continue with his second task - retrieving weapons. “I will come back for you. I swear it, Father,” he muttered to himself as he walked through the dark alleys. Collecting the weapons of the fallen proved easier than collecting their bodies; swords, spears, axes, crossbows, anything that Percy could stuff into a bag discretely, he grabbed. Whilst turning a corner into another dark alley, he found himself seized by the arm and pulled into an abandoned house. The door was quickly shut and before Percy could react, a knife was held to his throat. “Salvian or Imperial?!” The hooded figure demanded, keeping their voice to a whisper despite the apparent fury. Percy sputtered to respond in his shock. “I- wh-” The knife pressed further against his throat. “Salvian or Imperial?” “Salvian!” Percy finally uttered. He could feel the knife ease from his neck as the figure shrouded in cloak and darkness rose to their feet. The knife was soon sheathed as a hand was outstretched to Percy. He readily accepted the hand, slowly rising to his feet while rubbing his neck. “Good. I’m glad I am not the only one.” The figure pulled back their hood to reveal their face; “Cicero.” “Percy Calhoun. Mark Calhoun was my Father,” Percy replied as he looked around at the quiet house. “If we two are alive, there’s more of us.” A pause settled over the room before he turned to look at Cicero. “What’re you gonna do?” The Salvian Ranger hummed in thought at Percy’s question, followed by a shrug. “I’m not so sure,” he finally uttered. “You could stick with me. The Salvian fleet’s untouched. If we can find a few more survivors to come with us, we could crew them and set off. Keep the Republic alive.” Percy didn’t quite know where this had come from, but it felt right to say. At least, to him it did. Cicero offered only a nod before beginning to crack open the door. “Maybe. But right now? I’m getting the hell out of here.” With that, the two parted ways without another word down their separate paths of the alleyway. Percy himself didn’t linger much longer. Once he collected as many weapons as he could carry, he began to quickly make his way out of the city as quietly as he could. In that time, he had managed to round up a few more Salvians to escape with him - though they traveled one at a time to limit their visibility and each carried two weapons that Percy had found. With most of the few Salvians he could find out of the city, all that remained was for Percy himself to exit. Slowly did Percy creep towards the gate beneath the cover of night with a dagger in his right hand and a crossbow in his left. The wind which blew so fiercely in the badlands had covered the sound of his footsteps, at least most of the way. Whether he was a second too slow or it was purely bad luck, an Imperial soldier caught sight of his boot as he ducked behind a house for cover. “Who’s there?!” The voice of the guard roared out in the windy night. With his spear braced, he began to approach the alley which Percy had darted into. His hands began to shake as adrenaline filled his body. He could feel his pulse quicken as he waited for the guard to draw near. “Last warning! Come out, terrorist bastard!” Just as the Imperial rounded the corner, Percy lunged out towards them and tried to jam his dagger into the man’s skull. Either the adrenaline had thrown him off or the soldier had been too quick, but the Imperial caught Percy’s stab by using his spear to block Percy’s forearm. Percy quickly tried to aim his crossbow for the Imperial’s ribs, only for it to be knocked from his hand by an upwards knee. With his hand free, Percy quickly made to slap his hand over the Imperial’s mouth to prevent him from yelling out. The two fell into a grappling match on the ground there in the alley with the Imperial’s spear quickly being dropped in exchange for a rondel dagger. The Imperial stabbed towards Percy's ribs, only for the blow to be just barely intercepted by chainmail despite the tip of the dagger still digging into Percy’s skin. A loud grunt of pain escaped the Calhoun before he pulled his own dagger back, grabbed its hilt with both hands, and used the whole force of his body to drive its blade into the Imperial’s throat. A quiet moment of catharsis followed. He was alive. He had survived. The moment did not last long as the dying whelps of the Imperial had mustered half a dozen more to begin converging towards the alley. With a frustrated scowl on his face, Percy grabbed the weapons he could from the dead Imperial and ran for the open city gates, just barely making it out undetected and into the conquered badlands.

Blood-Soaked Cowboy "I've been a fighter all my mis'reble life," spoke the Ranger as he mounted his horse with his spurs letting out a jingle as he settled into his saddle. "Ain't missed a fight for the cause 'fore, ain't gonna do it now. Y'go on and git, do something with yer life. Make yer Mamma proud." Percy frowned as he reached to grab his Father by the forearm. Mark turned to look at Percy with a gaze only few had ever seen. One of love, of gentleness. His Son's voice spoke wearily as if he believed he could convince Mark to stay with nothing but words. "Pa, what 'bout Mamma? What 'bout my life? Dontcha want to live to see yer grandbabies?" Mark only frowned and pulled his arm away from Percy's grasp. "Y'tell 'em their grandpappy died fer somethin' greater than himself. He died livin' free." With that, Mark spurred his horse away from the place where he and his wife had raised their boy. Mark wasn't a good man. He knew that about himself. He knew he'd lived a scoundrel, a bandit, and a maimer of his enemies. Even still, he bore no regrets. He did it for his country, his people, his freedom, and his family. If he couldn't live in a Republic of his choosing, he'd die by the sword of the men he had always lambasted as tyrants. Alas his end would be quick - A spear to the back of his neck killed him quickly enough that he did not feel the hundred-foot fall to the mesa ground, nor the breaking of his bones with the impact. And so the Salvian Ranger fell with his beloved Republic.